


In Another World

by NativeBrummie



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NativeBrummie/pseuds/NativeBrummie
Summary: Modern AUShe’d first seen him when Louie, the youngest President in the history of the republic, was addressing the press with some members of his cabinet and Chevy had taken her along to prompt him of who’s who in the press pit.He’d been there, prowling along the back row, behind the camera’s, assessing every person in the room.She’d leaned over to Gaston LeFoix and asked who he was.‘Smiley and Karla rolled into one’Fabien is the spy master. Sophie is his informant.





	In Another World

Sophie awoke to the sound of a key in the lock.

She’d fallen asleep on the couch.

Not surprising, it was a magnificent piece of furniture from Roche Bobois.

She’s commented that fucking on the hardwood floor and kitchen units was giving her a bad back and he’d handed her his credit card (in the name of Jean Dubois she’d noticed) and told her to get what she thought necessary.

This couch was very necessary. The apartment, a bolthole somewhere on the outskirts of the 7th arrondissement, was otherwise unfurnished.

She hung her head off the arm of the couch and watched Fabien appear in the doorway.

His suit was rumpled and he’d discarded his tie completely. Probably lost it. Maybe used it as an impromptu torture devise.

He had a very peculiar notion of what constituted ‘pillow talk’.

Everything about Fabien was peculiar and she wondered how many relationships he’d actually had. When they fucked he was an artist but for someone so in tune with the nuances of human behaviour he was anxious when out of his element.  

If she’d left it entirely in his hands they’d never have moved beyond a one-night stand.

_The first time they’d slept together it was mid-argument; quick and desperate on this very floor._

_She’d refused to give him the name of a source, fearing what would happen to the young girl who had been a mule for a terror cell’s supplies and been beaten every day of her life._

_She’d squared up to him, so they were nearly nose to nose and told him that he’d have a better chance of getting the name of her source by cracking her head open._

_He’d slammed her against the wall, pressed his gun to her temple and told her not to think he wouldn’t._

_The gun hadn’t left her temple when she was crushing her mouth to his. She couldn’t pinpoint why, her attraction to him had been growing and growing but something about this declaration made her take the leap._

_She wanted to prove him wrong. That he wouldn’t do anything for the cause._

_That she could make him want her more than he wanted the information._

_The next time she’d seen him it had been business as usual. And the next time and the next time until she’d eventually snapped and slapped him, demanding to know if she was really such a terrible lay that he wanted to forget it ever happened._

_With all the measured patience of a serial killer he’d informed her that if she did not think he had enjoyed it immeasurably she was mistaken and that he had presumed that she hadn’t wished to discuss it as she hadn’t bought it up._

_Then he’d fucked her on top of the kitchen countertop and from then on their weekly debriefings had been accompanied by a literal debriefing._

‘I was starting to think you weren’t coming’ she admitted even though it made her feel a little foolish to admit that she looked forward to seeing him.

He busied himself taking off his over coat and gun holsters, stuffing his leather gloves in the pocket before hanging them on the edge of the door and peeling off his jacket to toss into the corner.

He artfully flopped on top of her, catching himself on his forearms before he crushed her.

She wondered how long he could hold a plank for. She’d have to test that out some time.

She lifted her hands to his face and ran her thumbs over his moustache.

‘You’re late’

‘Blame your cousin. How can someone so vacuous get himself into such complicated situations?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that Chevy (which just about everyone from his parents to the press called him) wasn’t actually her cousin. But he knew that already. It was pretence that they all kept up.

‘He gets bored’ she shrugged as best she could, ‘Why are you talking about him and not kissing me?’

He looked down at her with what anyone else would mistake for neutrality, but she now knew how to see the subtle twitch of his lips and warmness in his eyes that showed his fondness for her.

It made her breathless.

He ghosted his thumbs over her cheeks before bending down to press his lips to hers.

Top lip. Bottom lip. Top lip. Bottom lip.

Her mouth fell open.

His tongue traced her bottom lip before kissing her slow and hot, his tongue gliding over hers.

The first time he kissed her had been bruising. He’d slammed her against the wall and she’d fisted his hair just as brutally.

They’d learnt how to savour the moment at some point; mouths moving together with muscle memory.

He started on the buttons of his shirt and she reached to help him, their hands working together, pushing it off his shoulders and tossing it to the floor.

One day she’d have to ask him how many times he’d actually been shot and stabbed. The scars that littered his chest and abdomen were numerous and a variety of shapes belying a number of different instruments having been used.

She kneeled up and lifted her dress over her head, quickly folding and discarding it.

She lay back and posed for him, letting him admire her lingerie.

She wondered if he knew she spent the week contemplating what she’d wear to see him, what he’d like, what’d make his eyes darken even further, make his blood rush to his cock.

He seemed to know everything. She liked to think this was something that she surprised him with.

She smirked. Her trip to Maison Lejaby hadn’t been wasted. Black gauze and lace barley covered her breasts and pussy while silk stockings went all the way to her mid-thigh.

If she didn’t know him she might have read his expression as murderous; eyes fierce and jaw clenched.

He pounced on top of her, his face buried in her neck. Sucking and biting in that strategic place where her neck joined her back and any mark would be covered by clothes or hair.

‘You know you don’t have to do that only there’ she laughed, ‘I can just say I had a date if anyone were to ask’

He parted his lips from her neck for a moment;

‘And you think Lisolotte and Chevy would respect your privacy and not pry further?’

‘I suppose not’ she smiled as his tongue trailed along her pulse to her shoulder taking the left strap between his teeth and dragging it off her shoulder.

He did likewise with the other side before undoing the front clasp by taking it into his mouth and unpicking it with his tongue and teeth.

He kissed all the way down to her navel swirling his tongue in the dent of flesh before continuing down to the top of her barley-there briefs. His tongue running just under the hem.

‘But Monsieur Marchal, don’t you want to hear about Monsieur Cassell?’ she laughed,

‘Is he still a duplicitous bastard?’

‘Yes’

‘Then it will keep. Now, a more pressing matter, do I leave you in the stockings or do I peel them off with my teeth?’

She laughed and dragged his head back to hers for a kiss.

He was so mindful of leaving love bites on her neck it amused her that he never considered the tell-tale sign of her reddened lip from his moustache.

She slid off the couch and onto her knees, taking down his pants as he toed off his boots.

He wore nothing underneath.

When she’d first made his acquaintance he’d seemed so uptight.

Now she knew him it seemed so strange that she’d missed everything about him that now seemed so obviously perversely sexy.

The moustache, the leather gloves, the guns that poked out from under his overcoat, the knife he carried in his boot.

She took her time to work him up, resting her hands on his legs, thumbs trailing up his inner thighs before sucking and nipping at the flesh covered muscle would have formed a pelvic V line if he had an ounce of vanity and worked on that area.

Instead his body was hard from a routine of running, weight lifting and martial arts training, not the contoured and sculpted thing that she saw at her gym.

She ran her nose over the tip of his cock before trailing her tongue up the length of him until she was sure that if any more blood went to his cock they’d be visiting the emergency room.

She finally showed him mercy by taking him into her mouth. She swallowed all of him he groaned like he was in pain.

He wound his hands through her hair and decide the rhythm, guiding her head up and down, tightening his grip before remembering himself and loosening it off again.

 

_She’d first seen him when Louie, the youngest President in the history of the republic, was addressing the press with some members of his cabinet and Chevy had taken her along to prompt him of who’s who in the press pit._

_He’d been there, prowling along the back row, behind the camera’s, assessing every person in the room._

_She’d leaned over to Gaston LeFoix and asked who he was._

_‘Smiley and Karla rolled into one’ he’d smirked and then proceeded to mansplain the works of John le Carré until Sophie subtly corrected him_ that _John le Carré was in fact not dead and still writing._

_She thought he’d seemed like a caged animal, stalking along the back row._

_She’d been to a circus with Lions on a school trip to St Lucia. It didn’t fit with her morals even then but it was amazing to see these wild animals rolled onto their backs to have their bellies scratched by their tamers._

She feels like that lion tamer when his cock is in her mouth and he was praying to a god he doesn’t believe in.

At the risk of choking to death she stretched her tongue to press into the space under his cock where his skin was at its softest.

His hand fisting in her hair again and she knew he was about to cum because his hips are lifting off the couch and he’s released her hair to fist the couch cushions so she prepared for the sour taste.

She makes a face when she swallows and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

When he’d had his ‘petit mort’ and begun to recover she climbed onto his lap and let her lips graze his.

‘You know coffee and red meat is not only a recipe for a heart attack?’

He cracked one eye open;

‘I’m averse to vegetables’ he yawned before kissing her deeply.

‘So what do you like eating?’ she asked, leaning back to look at him.

He smirked lazily but before she knew it he had flipped her onto her back and she gave an excited shriek.

‘Your cunt’ he laughed softly as he tossed her legs over his shoulders and pulling her lace and gauze briefs down her legs and tossing them over his shoulder.

He grazed the tip of his tongue over her clit.

Some men thought they knew how to perform orally, taking the bag of nerves roughly between the teeth.

For Fabien it depended on the groundwork that had been put in before.

If you needed to be that rough that quickly then you had failed to do your job thoroughly enough to begin with.

No, the lightest touch to begin with, gentle and repetitive but _always_ with variations.

The nerves moved, it was a chase.

A cat and mouse game.

He moved his tongue to edge around her soft folds.

Her breathing increased and she moaned in the back of her throat; her shoulders burrowing down into the couch in relaxation.

That was the first stage, to sate every muscle.

The next was to work her back up. He went back to her clit and worked her over again with the barest touch of his tongue.

He felt her toes curl into the flesh of his back.

He let his tongue dance over her folds again before circling her wet passage and she moaned deeper this time, half mewed. Ever so lightly he flicked his tongue inside her and her hips rolled like the swell of a wave.

Retreat and return.

He didn’t move closer, he made her come to him, to seek out the sensations again.

‘You’re being mean again’ she muttered, head thrown back.

‘To you my darling? Never’ he smiled into her thigh, sucking and biting the available flesh.

He moved back and worked her higher, this time brushing his facial hair over her bundle of nerves while his tongue explored her further. Not so much explored, he knew this path well, he memorized it and in moments of quite conceived of new routes to take her to that exquisite end.

She reached out to card her hand through his short hair.

He’d told her that when he was young and reckless and leading another life he’d worn it long; longer than hers. She’d laughed and begged him to let it grow out.

When he could sense her closeness from the twitching and fluttering of her cunt he went back to sucking and biting the inside of her thigh.

He thought of it like a journey on a highway. He could have taken that exit, it led to somewhere fun. But that was not the destination he had in mind.

She was aware of what he was doing but she couldn’t help but gasp in disappointment.

He chuckled against her thigh again, dropping a few open-mouthed kisses;

‘Patience Sophie’

She huffed and dragged her hand through her hair.

‘Where did you learn this kind of torture?’ she moaned,

He went back to licking her, this time delving further, tracing coded messages of his own design on her walls.

‘oh fuckfuckfuckfuck’ she chanted,

‘Later’ he told her as he moved back to her clit, ‘Tell me Sophie, tell me how you want it later’

She couldn’t think. She was telling her brain to name a damn position nownownow but all it gave her in return was a loop of _fuckshitdamnplease._

He brushed his moustache against her clit again and again, a little more pressure this time.

‘You wore stockings, you’ve never done that before, makes me suppose that you want something different. How haven’t we fucked? I don’t think I’ve bent you over the arm of this couch yet’

Ever so lightly he grazed a tooth over her clit.

It pushed her over the edge.

She couldn’t stop her heels digging into his back and using it or leverage as her hips thrust up off the couch.

Fabian’s hand curled into the flesh of her ass to keep her cunt to his mouth as his tongue tracked every convulsion.

He let go of her hip and her fall back to the couch.

He leaned back against the arm and watched her bask in the aftershock, reclined like she was in a Boucher painting.

She stretched like a cat, her back twisting and a leg extending up towards him.

She used her big toe to poke him in the chest.

‘You. Are. Too. Good. At. That’ she told him, punctuating every word with a prod.

He took her foot in his hand and kissed her ankle.

‘Tell me about Cassell’

She sighed heavily. She’d nearly forgotten what they came here for.

He didn’t trust phones, said that if she knew how easy it was to hack and bug phones then she wouldn’t use them either. If they did ever communicate that way it was heavily coded.

Ay present _@ the bar_ was the code for coming here.

‘He’s planning a trip to Tallinn’

He leaned over her and took her right nipple into his mouth.

‘And what does this mean?’ he asked with the soft scrap of flesh between his teeth.

‘That he’s meeting with some Russians?’

‘Good girl’ he praised before running his tongue over it and blowing cool air onto it.

He gave the same treatment to the left before sitting back on his heels.

‘Make sure you’re going with him’

Knowing that it was an order not a request she knew that protesting was futile but she still felt the need to make him consider the possibilities.

‘You know what he’ll try to do, don’t you?’

He looked up at her;

‘I’ll send one of my men in the security detail, you’ll never be at risk’

She sat up and rubbed her hand lightly over his half hard cock.

‘You asked me how I wanted it? You really shouldn’t ask that when you’re making me lose my mind, I could say _anything_ ’

He watched her slowly bring his cock back to life and shrugged;

‘You couldn’t say anything I wouldn’t want to do for you’

Sophie went to speak but found that no sound came out.

She let him take the lead mostly. He was so closed off that when they fucked it was like he opened himself up to her, everything he did was like a declaration of a part of himself. But he never said anything like this.

Sophie licked her lips;

‘Hmm, what am I going to do with you?’

She stood up and walked around the room, making a big show of thinking about it.

He lay down on his side and propped himself up with one arm watching her walk about the room in nothing but stockings, spinning round to face him confirming his suspicion that she’d been one of those girls who’d been put in a tutu and given ballet lessons at the earliest opportunity.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ she said again with a little more emphasis, standing right in front of him.

‘Whatever you wish’ he half shrugged,

She cocked her hip and smirked as his eyes trailed lazily over her;

‘You like looking at me’

‘You’re very beautiful’ he told her, not as a compliment but as a fact.

Inspiration hit like a lightning bolt and he could see it reflected in her eyes, the normally bright pearl whites shone a little brighter.

She propped her foot up on the arm of the couch giving him a good view of her wet cunt again.

She slowly shimmed her stocking down her leg.

‘Sit up’ she nearly sang and like an obedient dog he did.

She pulled it taught and covered his eyes with it, tying it at the back of his head.

He smiled and lightly bit her thumb as it passed over his lips.

She was less delicate with the other stocking now she wasn’t putting on a show and stripped it off her leg with little ceremony.

She pushed him back and straddled his hips, taking his hands in hers she secured the stocking around his wrists.

He could easily unpick the knot but that would defeat the object.

‘No looking and no touching? You’re being mean’

‘To you my darling? Never’ she teased, pressing a kiss to his lips.

She reached down under the couch searching for the bottle of aloe vera that she carried in her calfskin Céline handbag for her hands.

She smoothed a layer over his now hard cock and took a moment to enjoy the softness before manoeuvred herself until the tip of him touched her entrance.

She slipped herself under the circle of his arms and let them rest on her shoulders, her nipples grazing his chest responding to the dense, course hair they moved against.

Her hands fell to his shoulders as she sank down upon him.

He groaned her name into her ear as she engulphed every inch of him. The first few times she’d had to take a moment to adjust but now her body accommodated him like a key in its lock.

Her knees pressed into the couch as she slowly rolled her hips again and again. The build-up was a technique she’d picked up from him and she realised that she’d only been with boys and that this was the difference between men and boys. For all Fabien’s social awkwardness, he was without a doubt a man in this department.

He groaned her name again. Said it over and over like a prayer.

She loved hearing it. It made her hum with confidence.

Until she’d fallen under his stewardship all her confidence had come from her beauty.

It was the only thing anyone ever thought to complimented her on.

Every friend. Every lover. Her mother.

_Sophie, you’re so beautiful._

The first compliment Fabien had given her was one she treasured.

_You’ve done well. I hope it becomes a more common occurrence._

She wanted to record it and play it over and over again.

And then there’d been others and the sheer tragedy of how much those words had meant to her had become plain.

_Another success. This is getting to be a habit._

_Good job._

_You’ve proved yourself to be more than capable._

And then nothing. Not a word when she’d bought him details of the bank account a terror cells money moved through.

She’d tentatively asked if the information would be useful. He’d given her one of his long looks and sighed before telling her that if she required him to tell her every time she’d done well then he’d have to consider sending her to Equatorial Guinea after all.

She lowered his bound arms to rest at the base of her spine and leaned back as far as they’d allow, her body relying on them for balance. Her movements sped up and she felt the fabric move against her skin as he flexed his wrists.

‘Don’t even think about tearing those’ she laughed and he huffed. For a moment she forgot who he was and took the huff as a sign of defeat, making her own noise of satisfied triumph.

That turned into a squeal as he manoeuvred the binding under her backside and stood up.

Her legs flailed for a moment before she instinctively wrapped them around his waist, her nails digging into his shoulders.

She rolled her hips again, groaning deep and guttural in the back of her throat.

He let her establish the rhythm again before he bent his knees a fraction and began to meet her with shallow rolls of his own.

When she’d first begun her double life he had terrified her.

She’d been working as Henriette Stuart’s PA having been poached from La Chevy’s department, a position her mother had procured for her without application or interview.

It had all fallen apart so quickly.

They’d touched down in Charles Du Gaul at 22:00 and Henriette had been ushered into a black limousine. When she’d gone to enter it too the arm of Fabien Marchal had blocked her way and taken her arm, leading her to a black SUV and driven to a black site.

She was sat in a windowless room with one table, two chairs and a mirror that ran the length of one wall.

She’d sat there for hours until Fabien had returned. She’s been cold, tired and hungry; ready to cry with frustration.

He’d sat opposite and stared at her, long and hard, before he’d begun his three hours of interrogation.

Questions about her upbringing. Her mother. Her father. Her school. Her religion. Her politics. Her friend’s politics. La Chevys politics. Henriette’s politics. Every country she’d ever visited. Her previous addresses.

She didn’t know when the whirlwind that her mind had become acknowledged that her mother had done something terrible but there came a point at which she realised that this was why she was being interrogated.

He continued.

The same questions over and over.

She felt herself crying and her throat felt like it had been polished with sandpaper.

Until finally he paused.

He looked long and hard at her again before informing her that she would be on a flight to Equatorial Guinea at dawn where she would be an admin clerk at the embassy for the rest of her days.

She’d been punch drunk with tiredness but that had made her more alert than a line of coke.

She’d leapt to her feet and pleased that she’d do _anything_ to stay in Paris.

And that is how she became his informant.

Moving from department to department as his pawn.

This imposing figure that summoned and dismissed her at the drop of a hat.

She tugged at the makeshift blindfold until it came off.

He pressed his forehead to hers and their eyes stared into each other.

_How do you even exist?_ She thought to herself, _How can you kill and torture for Louie and love like this?_

He panted into her ear telling her that if he had his way they’d meet every day, that he wanted to fuck her on his desk in the middle of the afternoon, on her desk when everyone has left for the evening, on Cassell’s desk while Louie gives him a dressing down in the conference room making her laugh and hold onto him tighter.

He rolled his hips until finally her body conceded defeat to the building pressure and she fell off the edge of the waking world and all went white.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Intended as a one shot but we'll see


End file.
